


Surprise, You're Adopted

by CamsthiSky



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, DCU
Genre: Dick Grayson is Robin, Dick Grayson is a Ray of Sunshine, Fluff and Humor, Fluff without Plot, Gen, He is also a weird child, Humor, Kidnapped Dick Grayson, Mentioned Jim Gordon, Mild Language, No Plot/Plotless, Protective Bruce Wayne, Swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-07
Updated: 2020-07-07
Packaged: 2021-03-05 02:14:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,823
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25136725
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CamsthiSky/pseuds/CamsthiSky
Summary: Dick gets kidnapped. Bruce gets worried. Things turn out alright in the end, though.
Relationships: Dick Grayson & Bruce Wayne
Comments: 25
Kudos: 444





	Surprise, You're Adopted

**Author's Note:**

  * For [DawnsEternalLight](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DawnsEternalLight/gifts).



> for matina

Bruce crouches on the ledge, hidden by shadows, just out of Commissioner Jim Gordon’s sight. It’s easier with the bat signal lit up, and usually Bruce would play up the dramatics, try to see how long his partner could keep a straight face.

Tonight is not a usual night, though.

For one, his partner is missing. They’d split up to investigate a warehouse, but ten minutes in, Bruce had gotten a panicked, _“B, they’re—”_

After that, nothing but static on his comm. Bruce had searched the warehouse top to bottom three times.

No Robin.

And now this. The bat signal lit up. Bruce had no clues as to where Robin could be, and he can only hope that this interruption is connected.

He slips from the shadows just as Gordon turns to light another cigarette.

_“Holy—”_

Gordon startles at the abrupt sight of him, clutching at his chest. Bruce’s heart aches at the lack of Robin trying to muffle his snickers that usually accompanied the reaction.

His grief doesn’t show on his face.

“Would ya quit scaring me like that? I’m not as young as I used to be.”

Bruce says nothing. Gordon sighs, fishing something from inside his coat and holding it out for Bruce to see.

“A kid from Gotham University showed up at our front door about twenty minutes ago, absolutely scared out of his mind. He gave this to us,” Gordon lightly shakes the object—a communicator, Bruce realizes. Sleek. Small. Too well-made for any of the usual Gotham suspects. “Kid said it’s for you.”

“And the student?” Bruce asks, taking the communicator from Gordon.

Gordon stuffs his hands into his coat pockets. “Conference room downstairs. I asked one of the ladies at the front desk to watch over him and take his statement since I’m pretty short-handed tonight. She should be finishing up soon.”

“Hn.”

“You’re real talkative tonight.”

Bruce doesn’t bother to respond to that. He growls, “What else.”

“Nothing we can’t handle ourselves,” Gordon sighs. “Nothing urgent, at least.”

He sounds exasperated, and Bruce knows from talking to Gordon during the day that the GCPD is slammed with cases that the city council won’t sign off on asking for Batman’s help. Not to mention all of their internal affairs issues.

Downstairs is probably a real clusterfuck.

Still, Bruce has other priorities.

“Any leads on the sender?” Bruce asks.

Gordon pinches the bridge of his nose. Migraine, probably. “No. Apparently, the kid was drugged and kidnapped. He woke up a few blocks from here with a note.”

“The note?”

“Being processed as evidence,” Gordon tells him. He hands over a photograph. “Here. Don’t say I never did anything for you.”

The note. Bruce doesn’t recognize the handwriting. There’s no signature, either. Just a few words: _Go to GCPD. Device must go to Batman._

Vague. Bruce should get back to the Cave and analyze it right now. It may be connected to Robin. He has what he needs from the Commissioner, and usually by now, he’d have vanished off into the shadows.

But tonight’s not usual. For some reason, Bruce hesitates.

The communicator crackles to life.

_“I assume that my lovely device has reached the fabled Batman’s hands,”_ a voice says. _“That’s good. I was getting tired of babysitting.”_

Bruce stiffens. Definitely connected, then. Gordon blinks at the device, his brain starting to connect dots. Unfortunately, he’s missing some of the key dots. He’ll only be working with half a picture.

Bruce doesn’t draw it for him. He stays silent.

_“I’m assuming you’re listening,_ ” the voice says, and this time, Bruce can hear a commotion in the background. _“Bring the brat over.”_

Gordon’s eyebrows shoot up.

_“Fuck you, you bald jerk!”_ Bruce’s pre-teen ward yells out, and if he didn’t have the cowl on, Bruce is pretty sure he’d be heaving out a sigh, because of course Dick is antagonizing them. _“I’m pretty sure I know exactly what I’m talking about. The color scheme is atrocious. No flair, or_ anything _. What are you, second-rate kidnappers? Where’s your pizazz?!”_

_“Will you shut up?!”_ another voice cries, probably whoever was ordered to bring Dick over to the first voice.

_“It’s literally illegal for me to stop running my mouth. If I’m quiet for more than thirty seconds, the world’ll explode. Now let me go so I can kick your mustached, jumpsuit wearing asses ten ways to Sunday!”_ Dick yells.

_“Not happening,”_ the first voice says.

_“Ow!”_ Bruce’s heart seizes at Dick’s short cry of pain. “ _Hey, Mister, I think you missed your calling as a meat tenderizer!”_

_“Batman’s on the line,”_ the first voice tells Dick, and this time, Dick does go quiet. _“You wanna speak to him, then you behave.”_

There’s one, two, three, four, _five_ seconds of silence. And then—

_“B?”_ Dick call out, sounding tentative in a way that puts Bruce’s nerves on fire. There’s static in his brain, and he’s barely able to push past the fuzziness to hear Dick ask, _“Are you there?”_

Somehow, Bruce manages to sound like his normal, gruff, Batman self when he says, “Robin.”

Dick exhales loudly. And this time Bruce can’t help the fond eyeroll when Dick starts chattering again.

_“Good golly gosh, Batman,”_ Dick says, sounding ten times brighter than before, like he hadn’t just been using language that would have made Alfred wash his mouth out with soap. _“You wouldn’t believe how dull this place is. I mean, you’d probably like it with how dark and dreary it is. Perfect for bat brooding.”_

There’s more commotion, some angered and exasperated shouts from the background of the communicator, but Dick keeps talking.

_“And holy Batman, B, when they surprise adopted me I did not think that I was gonna have to deal with more black. What’s with old guys and monotone colors? D’ya think it makes you look manly?”_

_“That’s enough, kid,”_ the first voice says. Then, to Bruce, _“If you want the chatterbox traffic light back, you’re going to meet me on 32nd by the old batting cages. Oh, and you’re going to bring me a file from the GCPD.”_

“File?” Gordon finally steps in.

_“Ah, so the Commish was listening in. Oh well. Yeah. Jaquelyn Briggins. Her file, or you don’t see the kid again.”_

“Fine,” says Bruce, before Gordon can put his foot in his mouth. “Fifteen minutes. The batting cages on 32nd.”

The line goes dead. Bruce makes sure it’s temporarily disabled for sure with an attachable EMP.

“Get the file,” Bruce demands.

Gordon sighs, exasperatedly, but walks towards the roof’s door. “I’ll get it. Meet me in my office.”

Bruce goes from roof to window in seconds, slipping into Gordon’s office before the commissioner gets there. Once he brings the file, they pour through it.

Thirteen minutes.

“What’s this guy want with Jaquelyn Briggins?” Gordon asks. “There’s barely anything in here.”

Which is better for them, Bruce thinks as he scans the two sheets of information a third time. More information would take time to sort through things that don’t matter. In this case, all the info Bruce needs is right in front of him.

Eleven minutes.

Bruce takes a picture with his cowl lenses. “I’m borrowing the file.”

Gordon doesn’t look happy. “That’s illegal, you know.”

“So are vigilantes.”

“Bring it back,” Gordon sighs.

Bruce grunts an affirmative, and then he’s off.

The journey to the meet up place is practically a blur. He’s at three minutes when he reaches 32nd street. He reaches the batting cages at two.

He perches from a nearby roof ledge, scanning the area.

Dick’s information is as accurate as always. Four men stand outside the batting cages. There are two men holding Dick, one grabbing each arm. Dick’s staring down a third man, and the last is looking around the practically abandoned street.

One is bald. Two have mustaches. All of them are wearing black jumpsuits. The one standing in front of Dick is wearing rings, which match the scratches on Dick’s cheek.

Nothing else is out of the ordinary. He double checks, sends a discreet message to Alfred to prep the first aid kit and start researching Briggins, and makes sure Superman’s frequency is on hand if things get dicey.

Then, Batman gets to work.

Dick knows he’s there. The way he squints his eyes and grits his teeth as he chatters—yells, really—at the ring-wearer is enough for Bruce to know that much. The kid is yelling louder, now, raving about the goons’ lack of fashion.

It’s agitating them enough for Bruce to slip from the rooftop, landing almost soundlessly in the shadows. He tenses, waits for one of the goons to start yelling at Dick, and then rolls out smoke pellets. They work almost immediately, and Bruce makes his move.

It’s only been a few years since he and Dick have started working together, and even less since they’ve worked together well enough to seamlessly fight half-blind. But, Bruce is careful, and soon, he has the lookout and one of Dick’s captors knocked out with well-placed blows, and as Dick takes out his other captor, Bruce catches the throat of the ring-wearer and slams him up against a chain-link face.

“Who is Jaquelyn Briggs?” Bruce growls out. He pays no attention to the fight behind him. Dick takes the last man out in less than ten seconds. The ring-wearer’s eyes are wide. Bruce slams him against the fence again. “Tell. Me. Now.”

“My—She’s my cousin, man!” the guy croaks, hands scrabbling at the glove crushing his windpipe. “The police— _hrk_ —covered up her death! I know it!”

Bruce lets the ring-wearer fall to the ground. He starts to tie him up after he alerts Gordon to the situation.

Dick crouches down by the restrained ring-wearer, head tilted. “I don’t get why you had to surprise adopt me to find out whether or not the police covered up your cousin’s death. You could’ve just asked Commissioner Gordon and he would have helped you!”

Bruce sighs. “Robin.”

Dick looks up at him. “What? It’s true.”

“Stop using the words ‘surprise adopt’. It’s not funny.”

Dick smirks. “Au contraire, Mister Batman, sir. I think it’s _hilarious_.”

Bruce rolls his eyes under the cowl. He’s going to be hearing this one for a while. But, he thinks that he can probably live with it, now that his kid is back where he’s supposed to be—right next to him.

“We’re leaving, Robin.”

“’Kay! Bye, surprise adopted father who is no longer my surprise adopted father!”

“ _Robin.”_

“Just say I’m funny and I’ll move on.”

“No, you won’t.”

“You’re probably right.”

Bruce rolls his eyes again, fonder and even more exasperated than the first time. He ushers Robin forward, and then they disappear into the night, the only trace that they were there the four men they’d tied up and left for the police.

Dick chatters the whole way home. Bruce wouldn’t have it any other way.


End file.
